Saturday, December 16, 2017

For almost two years, I wished on every birthday candle, every backwards necklace, every eyelash for this moment. Not just for me, but for him. This guy who tirelessly carried all of my overweight emotional baggage across the ocean, brought home a Mamaroo in the front basket of his bicycle, cleaned up all the cat poop, made almost every meal and washed nearly every dish.

As I carried this new person - he carried me. For nine months I held my breath waiting and hoping for this moment.

You were meant to be a dad just like Peyton Manning was meant to be a Colt, just like Blink 182 was meant to be your soundtrack, just like tins were meant to be full of Christmas cookies, just like we were meant to be.

I'm going to have thousands upon thousands of favorite pictures of the two of you but none will ever top this first one. It will always remind me of how you watched her be born and fell instantly, madly in love and, from that first second, the feeling was mutual. It will remind me of the first two weeks which sometimes felt like two seconds, and sometimes felt like two years. How you held us both while we cried and cried. How you kept us fed and made sure we both slept. How you sometimes just looked at her and said, "I have a daughter."

Thank you for everything. For letting me eavesdrop on your private diaper changing conversations. For going out and getting us our first Christmas tree. For holding her in the bath because I'm too nervous that I'll drop her. For already being the most amazing Dad this little girl could possibly dream of having. We both love you so much.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

I have been buying tampons for almost twenty years now, so you would think this wouldn't really be an issue. And I'm a pretty brand loyal girl. The Tampex with the flushable applicators has been my go-to since I was old enough to need a go-to.

Recently though, they either got rid of the ones with the flushable applicators, or they hid them or something because I walk into Walgreens and I am flummoxed. I find myself standing there, looking for these boxes that I've been self-consciously carrying to the checkout line for over half my life. And they aren't there. The ones I want, my tampons, aren't there. Sometimes they have a store brand version that is almost what I want, but like I said, I am a snob when it comes to tampons (#firstworldperks).

So I stand there and I come to the conclusion that the ones I want aren't there. Then, for some reason, picking the runner up to settle for is impossible. They're aggressively adorably packaged or they're too complicated, or they seem irrationally expensive. All the options blur together and then I realize that it has been five minutes. At this point, two or three women may have come by, picked up their box and left. While I have never seen a side-eye, I have felt them walking away thinking, "Seriously? Are you new?" And after all that I finally get to a point in the mindlessly staring at boxes and just pick one up and pay for it.

Which is how I have ended up with scented tampons twice in the past six months.

The fact that scented tampons even exist is proof positive that the tampon companies are run by men. At a time when you are already feeling bloated and hungry and generally gross, to also feel like you smell so bad, that you have to deodorize the stopper you shove inside yourself. We all know that tampons are full of terrible chemicals that are slowly leeching into our organs like so many power plants into drinking water, but to add additional chemicals all in the name of keeping the people around you from being inconvenienced by the smell of so much uterine lining? It was clearly only men around the table at that strategy meeting.

So now, I'm stuck with these tampons that smell like mall kiosk body spray, that indicate I smell unacceptable, and that remind me I can't manage to pick tampons like a grown-up.

The real problem with tampons recently is that they are a sign of failure. After what seems like a hundred years, but is really only just over one year, of trying to get pregnant, every single tampon has reminded me that I am currently unable to perform my most basic biological function. Every time I buy a box (scented or no), I let myself have this brief glimmer of hope that maybe this will be the last box for a while. But for the past thirteen months of boxes, I have used the last one and then brought home another box, like a failed math test for your parents to sign.

Compounding the annoyance and tedium of a period with a sense of sometimes just, bone crushing sadness about failing again and again at something that everyone around you seems to only ever get right. And to add being bad at buying tampons to the equation really seems to bring the hammer down on my soul.

Saturday, February 18, 2017

I should write about my job and how it is time to put on my big girl pants and fix the problems I can, and accept the ones I can't.

I should write about how marriage is different than I expected, but probably better than I anticipated.

I should write about the existential despair that makes it so hard to get out of bed some mornings and the cure, which might be found in not checking twitter before the sun comes up.

I should write about how time works when you find out that you're trying to read a broken clock.

The problem with writing on the internet is... it is awfully public. When you're spending most of your time processing, everything comes out like a Joyce-ian paragraph without even a single comma and it can be hard to come up with simple sentences that are easily digestible by people who might happen upon them.

So here are some things that are absolute in their truth and meaningless:

The first season of Downton Abbey feels like a warm blanket on my soul.

Making a pot of coffee is beyond my capabilities most mornings. If I can't have a cup made for me, by man or machine, I'll just go without.

Every time a teacher tells me "its easier when you smile" in a yoga class, I want to punch her (or him) directly in jaw.

Sunday, January 01, 2017

My #hottake on 2016 - I probably wouldn't have gotten married this year if I had known it would open the seventh circle of hell. Holy smokes this year was terrible. BUT! I made it past the goal of 52 books. 56 books in 52 weeks! It was nice to escape the dumpster fire for a little while in some good (and not-as-good) reads. The bolded ones are my top recommendations. Some random thoughts below.

Thirteen Reasons WhyThe MartianThe Invention of WingsThe Life Changing Magic of Tidying UpJane and the Waterloo MapSelfish, Shallow and Self AbsorbedThe Love Affairs of Nathaniel PDeath of CancerMissoulaOrphan TrainLife After LifeThe ClaspA God in RuinsEmma: a Modern RetellingThe Language of FlowersThe Prince of NantucketMen Explain Things to MeThe CrownA Study in CharlotteEligibleEverything EverythingAll the Single LadiesIf I was Your GirlThe Girl Who Fell from the SkyThe Thing About JellyfishRosemary The Hidden Kennedy DaughterBelzharAsking for ItBreath Becomes AirWhy Not Me?Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden FruitBeing Mortal* A Short History of Nearly EverythingMorning StarLet's Pretend this Never HappenedBoys in the BoatSharp ObjectsSmarter Faster BetterDark PlacesThe End of the Perfect 10Dear Mr. YouPre-SuasionVassa in the NightThe GirlsLuckiest Girl AliveThe HikeA Life in MenIn the Garden of BeastsGhostly EchoesLove WarriorHag-SeedIn the Heart of the SeaAn Ember in the AshesNovember's Fury: The Deadly Great Lakes Hurricane of 1913Crazy Rich AsiansI'm Thinking of Ending Things

Crazy Rich Asians is a perfect beach read. Hag-Seed made me fall in love with words (again). The Hike and In the Heart of the Sea are the best "books for boys." Asking for It and Men Explain Things to Me will make you angry. Breath Becomes Air and Being Mortal will make you sad. Dear Mr. You will give you every emotion ever. If I had to pick a worst book, its probably The Prince of Nantucket. Triumphs in young adult literature include The Thing About Jellyfish and Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit. I'm Thinking of Ending Things was an appropriately titled book for last book of the year.